Sigil: City of Doors

Sil gets the following letter back:

wrote: Dear Sillxhistraja,

Dace is very busy, but we think we can fit you into the schedule in the next few days. How about you come over for tea?

Have a nice day,

Sasha Andor

A letter came with reply:




Very well.

You can expect us soon.

If the owner will not be in place, I will talk with his representative.

Sally Fernalit.

For the past couple of weeks Eve has busied herself in the engineer room making tweaks and improvements to better the ships performance. Many of the crew are beginning to wonder if she ever comes out.

/// Is this group still open? Are you interested in a new crew mate??

BloodredRoses wrote:/// Is this group still open? Are you interested in a new crew mate??

//Yes, we're still around . . . lurking in the shadows. :P And we also do accept new people, you just need to catch one of us in game sometime! :)

Raka is rummaging around cleaning his little cosy storeroom on the ship, Airing out pillows, replacing the blankets and throwing a minor ooze off the ship that had settled in a corner. He was happy to be home after his long, not entirely voluntary adventure in a plane of jungles and dinosaurs. He is a little sad he could not bring his new pet. The T-Rex he named 'Fluffy' home with him but he is glad to finally be back in Sigil and back on the Sirens song.

One afternoon, a sharp knock sounds upon the door of the Siren's Song, followed by seven more. If opened, the portal would give way to the sight of a certain frosted witch, clad in a dress of wintry hue and various fur accessories. Her skin bears a slightly reflective, icy sheen, and her dress sleeves are stiff with frost. Indeed, tiny tendrils of the stuff seem to curl and crawl out along the deck to a distance of about three feet from the witch on all sides. Her hands are folded before her waist, fingers entwined about the cane-handle of a parasol, made from ice. The shaft rests upon one shoulder and in the crook of her elbow, and she twirls its canopy idly about, dropping a light flurry of snowflakes to the ground.

The witch's head cants to one side, and with a troubled, barmy little half-smile, she speaks in greeting.

"Hello. I am Ilysthel, or Ily or Ilys or Lys or Lysthel, as your ears and/or reptilian-ear-membrane-things find most pleasant at the moment. Is this the residence of one, 'Dace?'"

After a brief pause, footsteps were heard on the other side of the door. It opened, and Sasha poked her head out.

"Hello Lys! Yes, Dace lives here, but he's not home right now. What did you want?"

The barmy little icicle replies simply, matter-of-factly, and always with that same half-smiling expression.

"A salt suit. A suit for salt...? Ah! Yes yes. A salt-assault suit!" The wordplay elicits a bubbling giggle from the witch's lips, after which her expression grows markedly more serious. It's a nigh-instantaneous change, from mirthful laugh to narrowed eyes and drawn lips!

"Dead worlds stuck in nightmares are cut off from the Courts, yes? Less Winter to go around. Hmhm. This, I cannot let stand. A threat to Winter is a threat to my dear love and patron -- and for her I will face anything -- trolls, dragons, cults, even Powers, yes?"